


JackP: Origins

by rage_quitter



Series: Immortal FAHC Origin Stories [3]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Female!Jack, Immortality, Temporary Character Death, minor OCs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 13:12:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4181061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rage_quitter/pseuds/rage_quitter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack's head rolled, quite literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	JackP: Origins

Louis XVI was dead. His wife, Marie Antoinette, followed a few months later

How many people had died so far? Jaqueline de Paillard had no idea. Hundreds, maybe. She was beginning to question, not for the first time, her loyalties.

She’d been a member of the noble class of France, a quiet woman who annoyed her family by her distaste of men. She was thirty two already and was still a single woman. She also fully supported the revolution and dismantlement of the monarchy, unlike all the other nobles. Dressing in peasant’s clothing and occasionally man, she would join the lower class women in rallies and protests for women’s rights. She was never found out, somehow.

But despite her drive to support the rebellion and her dislike of the monarchy, she was not excused from the block, because of her noble blood. She protested as she was ripped from her home.

It was a chilly day, November 18, 1793. The streets smelled of blood, but they always did now, with all of the executions. Jacqueline had grown used to the stench. She was sitting in her drawing room fixing the collar of a dress. She’d moved into the city of Paris a few years ago and lived on her own.

There was a sudden knock at the door. Jaqueline wasn’t expecting company. She set aside the dress and went to the door.

Three men stood there. She vaguely recognized one as minor leader in the revolution.

Before she could even greet them, the other two men had grabbed her arms and yanked her from the room. Jacqueline cried out in shock and was struck across the face by the other man.

“Be silent, wench!” He snapped. “You are hereby accused of being a noblewoman and you will be punished with death by guillotine.”

“I- _Non_!” Jaqueline struggled with her captors. “I’ve fought by your sides for years! This is an outrage!”

“Regardless of what you may claim,” the man sneered, “it does not excuse your status as an ally of the monarchy.”

“I am allied with the people of France!” she shouted. “Unhand me!” She tasted blood in her mouth as he slapped her again.

“Be quiet! You are an enemy of the French people!”

“I’m not! Damn you, you’re a monster! The whole lot of you!” She caught sight of the insignia on his jacket and scowled. “Of course. You’re a Jacobin.”

“The _Société des amis de la Constitution_ has found you guilty. There will be no trial, and no Girondins to bail you out. Pray to your god now, Jaqueline. You will meet him soon enough.”

She couldn’t argue that she was unaffiliated with the party, despite her strong preference for them, because the men dragged her along roughly.

She was shocked by the jeers and insults thrown at her from outside. She lived a peaceful life here, these were her neighbors! She turned betrayed eyes to one woman in particular; she’d given some bread to her just yesterday and they had a fine chat, and here she was rallying for her execution!

She was locked up in a prison cell with four other women and a frightened young man, he couldn’t be older than nineteen. They prayed together. There would be no rescue for them.

They were thrown scraps of food. Jaqueline let the others have it. She was well fed, and could manage without it. The young man cried into her shoulder.

Two days later, they were rudely awoken from fitful sleep and shaken and dragged out of the cell. Jaqueline burned with hatred at the groping hands of the guards and lashed out, startling him with her strength and breaking his nose. She was restrained and gagged and hit.

It was not long before she and several other people were packed into a cart led by two donkeys and driven from the prison to the block. The people surrounded the cart, screaming and jeering and throwing rotten food and broken items. A piece of glass cut Jaqueline’s cheek. She did not react. One woman was sobbing brokenly beside her, and a man was reciting the Catholic’s Latin prayer repeatedly, asking for the sins of all with him to be forgiven.

Jaqueline kept her face cold and proud the entire time, despite her heart pounding with fear and despair. She had to be strong, if only for the others with her, to show the crowd that what was happening was wrong. They should not pity her, but realize that this was not what freedom was.

She suddenly felt soft hands behind her hair, and the gag was untied. Jaqueline spat it out and gasped in relief. She turned to her rescuer and gaped.

The woman was perhaps a little younger than she, but by God, gorgeous, even with a black eye and dirt and blood on her face. Jaqueline was speechless.

“That looked awfully uncomfortable. Shh, don’t tell the guards I’m untied,” she whispered, smiling.

Jaqueline nodded numbly, still dumbfounded by the girl’s beauty. It was _un coup de foudre._ * She found her voice finally. “It’s our secret. Thank you.”

The woman giggled and kept close to Jaqueline. “My name is Camille. _Et toi_?”

“Jaqueline.”

“Lovely to meet you, although I am sorry it’s so shortly before our deaths.”

“Do you think we can escape?”

Camille looked sad. “I wish I could say otherwise, but it seems we have no option. We can only remain strong and hope to meet again in the great kingdom.”

“I would like that,” Jaqueline murmured, face reddening when she realized her own intentions.

Camille smiled, her hand brushing Jaqueline’s lightly.

Jaqueline wondered if her own responses to women might be cause for her execution. It was highly frowned upon, after all, for such feelings for one’s same gender.

Jaqueline instinctively grabbed on to Camille’s hand as the cart came to a stop by the block. The guillotine’s blade was freshly washed and sharpened, glinting wickedly in the cold November sun. Camille gulped, gripping Jaqueline’s hand just as tightly.

“I do hope my sister will be okay,” Camille murmured. “All alone in the countryside…”

“I’m sorry,” Jaqueline said. “I pray she will be all right.”

“I do wish we could have met sooner, madem…oiselle?”

“ _Oui_ , I… never wanted a husband.” Jaqueline wasn’t sure why, but the prospect of I’m going to die made her want to spill her perverted, lustful thoughts. The executioner was waiting by the guillotine and there were revolutionary leaders yelling to the rowdy mob. It was hard to hear Camille, but the shouts masked their soft talk.

“I, too. It wasn’t that my family never pressured me to finding one. Men… well, I just never found myself ever interested in them.” Camille laughed nervously.

Jaqueline hated this, by God, a lovely girl with her same desires, and they meet minutes away from their deaths! “I understand exactly. My desires were… placed elsewhere.”

Camille raised an eyebrow. Her cheeks were pinked. “Dear Jaqueline, I believe Fate hates us, for the time we meet is the time we part.”

They were roughly jolted as people were shoved out of the cart and dragged, one by one, kicking and screaming, to the block.

There was nothing she could do. Jaqueline watched in agony as people were forced to their knees, and looked away as the blade fell. She heard a wet slice, then a soft thud, then roaring cheers from the crowd. The air reeked of blood. Her hand gripped Camille’s tightly.

When the guards came for them, Jaqueline started forwards, not wanting Camille to die first. Camille pulled her back. “Non, wait. I will go first. Please. I will wait for you, _oui, ma belle_? I… am not as strong as you seem to be. Forgive me.” 

Jaqueline nodded slowly. “You do not wish to see me die.”

“I know we just met, please do not find this odd or too much.”

“Non, I understand. I will be strong for both of us, and I will see you on the golden streets.” Jaqueline pressed a kiss onto Camille’s soft brown hair. “ _Au revoir, ma chérie_.”

Camille released Jaqueline’s hand and held her head high as she walked up to meet the guards. They reached for her, but she shook them off and marched to the block.

“Any last words?” the executioner growled.

“Only that I am guilty of nothing but love. He hath no quarrel with me or with my loves.” Camille’s eyes strayed to Jaqueline and she gave a small, sad smile. “Even the ones I wish I may have.” She knelt in front of the guillotine and positioned herself for execution.

Jaqueline tried to remain strong, but had to close her eyes and hiccuped when the blade fell. The crowd was oddly quiet as Camille’s head fell into the basket.

Jaqueline was numb and cold as she went to the block.

“Any last words?” The executioner asked.

“This will not end,” Jaqueline said.

She had no idea how right she was.

She woke up lying on the street in an alley between two apartments several blocks away. There was blood on her dress, her hair was uneven, and there was a silver scar wrapping around her neck.

She sat and cried for a while. She had a meltdown. The thoughts in her head were dizzying, afraid, pained. She must have fallen asleep at some point, because when she woke up there was a boy, no more than eleven or twelve, crouched over her, tapping her on the face. She didn’t cry out only because it was dark.

“Mademoiselle, are you okay?” the boy asked.

“I… I don’t know,” Jaqueline replied honestly. “I’m lost.”

“My name’s Georges.”

“I’m Jaqueline.” She sat up. “Why are you out here alone at night?”

“My maman died when I was small, and Papa went to fight and never came home. My _oncle_ is a drunken bastard so I ran away. Why are you alone at night?”

Jaqueline shook her head. “If only I knew. I need to leave here, I’m… wanted for execution, wrongfully.”

Georges held out his hand. “ _Allons-y, alors_.”**

Georges took Jaqueline to a small shop owned by a kind elderly man and his wife. They sold clothes. They’d been caring for Georges for a while, giving him food and clothes and a place to sleep when he needed one. They were happy to give her clothes, and didn’t even dispute when she asked for men’s clothes.

For several months, she lived on the streets of Paris with Georges, learning from him how to pickpocket and steal. From an older street rat friend of his she learned to fight, and then with a knife. She was good at using her words, and even at times returned to feminine dress and pretended to be Georges’s mother to swindle people into pitying them enough to give them money.

She began to save up her money, keeping it stored in a box under the floorboards of the old couple’s shop. She wanted to go to America. She searched high and low for someone who spoke English. Eventually she met a librarian who was multilingual, speaking French, English, and German. She spent hours at the library, learning the complexity that was the English language.

She was a little sad when it came time to leave for America. Georges told her to write to him, and she wished him well. The librarian took him in.

America wasn’t too bad. She liked it a lot, so different from France. It was a fun new experience for a few years until she was attacked. She fought off the worst thing that could have happened but ended up with a knife in her gut. She used said knife to kill her attacker before collapsing and dying.

And on time went. She was immortal. She began to dress more and more like a male and grew an excellent American accent that became almost her natural one, in a deep masculine tone. She taught herself many useful skills and turned, at times, to criminal activity. She wrote to Georges until years later, when she received one last letter, his farewell from his deathbed. She outlived him. She went to his funeral back in France, but returned to America.

War came and went. Jaqueline, who had used the name Jack in her male persona and was now using it more and more often regardless, avoided fighting. She went west with the pioneers and became the sheriff of a small town until sickness turned it into a ghost town. She woke from the illness staring at the sky and wondering if she could ever fly.

When planes were invented she immediately took to learning everything about them. All of the parts, the functions, how to fly them, how to care for them. She loved them with every fiber of her being.

But her funds were low, and she turned again to crime. Prohibition offered many opportunities, and while she wasn’t a runner, she helped with the business, and even worked with drug dealing as well. She heard about a good business in California, run by a mister Geoff Ramsey. She was fairly desperate for cash, and having fun with crime, so she followed him to San Andreas. After a while, she met him in his bar and they started a crew.

After discovering his immortality and sending him off to Texas to hide for a few years, Jack took over running the bar. She learned all the dirty secrets of the Los Santos inhabitants, the politicians, the media, the civilians, the police. She wrote down a lot and took maps of the city, detailed to the inch scale. When Geoff returned with little Gavin Free, Jack wasn’t sure about him at first, but trusted him enough. He proved himself with a good business deal that got them a few more loose members, helping spin their web over the city.

 

Alcohol, drugs, arms, selling things was great and dandy but they wanted to be more dangerous. Immortal as they were, why shouldn’t they live as such? They found they were damn good at it. The circle grew with Michael and Ray, then B-Team, Ryan, and strings of allies. Jack found herself mothering them all, and their destined pilot. She was well respected for it, and for her abilities to communicate and blend with people and hide so well in plain sight. Geoff asked her opinion first and trusted it above anyone else’s, his second in command. In both the metaphysical and literal sense, Jack was flying high.

*Translation: love at first sight, literally, bolt of lightning

**Translation: Let’s go, then

**Author's Note:**

> The third origin of the Immortal Fake AH Crew stories. You can read all of them and more at immortal-fahc.tumblr.com. I feel slightly repetitive putting the same thing in the notes every installment.


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